


Pleasure in the Pain (Working Title)

by musicfeind2392



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: (for now) - Freeform, M/M, Mirrorverse, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicfeind2392/pseuds/musicfeind2392
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mirror!verse where Pike gets demoted to Commandant of Cadets, McCoy is still a pain in the southern ass and Jim Kirk is still...Jim Kirk, but it all takes place in a Mirror!verse.  There will be about four major parts to this, and the first bit took some serious time to write, so if you subscribe, there will be major time lapse between updates.  (Just lettin' y'all know)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pleasure in the Pain (Working Title)

Christopher Pike loved space. He lives for starships, commanding crews and being the quintessential captain. In his opinion, there was nothing better than finding new worlds and making them bow to the power that is the Terran Empire. It was a heady feeling to have an entire race submit to you. Fuck it was more than heady: it’s an intense rush of adrenaline that leaves you wanting more.

But now he’s back on Terra, and the freedom that he had when he was out in the black is elusive.  He knew how to handle people and to budget his resources out there. Now he has to sit in his office and look over requests and manifests and all manner of bullshit. When Chris wasn’t holed up in his office, he was at meetings with the higher ups in command, and all they did was second guess him.

He was sitting in one of those meetings now.   _And really, it’s not a meeting_ , he thought sullenly to himself. _It’s more like a tribunal_. Which seems to be a bit of overkill. There were two of each of them: fleet admirals, admirals, vice and rear admirals and two commodores. They were looking at his actions overall as a captain on his first five year mission. Ideally there weren’t supposed to be any mistakes, but there were a few, and now he has to hear all about them.

“While we understand the need for strenuous negotiations with these life forms we also feel that the decimation of a species was a touch...overzealous.” Chris thought that it might be Admiral Komack talking, but he wasn't entirely sure. "Due to these conclusions, we feel that it’s best that this committee continues in it’s investigation.

“Until such a time that this committee can determine whether you will be staying in a command position, you will go to the Academy.”

Pike gaped at the rest of the commanders sitting in front of him. Suspended? Determining his command? No, there was no way that decimating a species would get him into this much trouble. There was something else, something that they wanted.

“Admirals,” he began, his tone almost pleading. “I respect the decision that this committee has made. However, I feel as though stripping me of my command will be detrimental to Starfleet in the long run.”

“What need does Starfleet have for hot-shot captains who don’t know how to follow orders?” The admiral that might be Komack asked him.

_I have the ability to follow orders, so long as they don’t piss me off,_ Pike thought to himself. “I regret that this committee believes that I do not follow orders. If there is anything that I can do to dissuade you of that belief, tell me.”

“Then get on your knees, Captain, with your hands behind your back.”

Fuck.

“Do you need your hearing tested, Captain?”

“No. No, sir,” Pike fumed.

“Good. After all of us have come on your face and down your throat, we may be persuaded to give you a second chance.”

“Yes, sir. Very good, sir,” Pike answered as he walked forward to the first admiral and got on his knees.

*

Chris was still angry when he walked into Starfleet Medical hours later. After the investigation committee threatened to take away his command, he was told his orders were to serve as the head of Doctor Phillip Boyce’s security team while he travelled to some medical conference or another. Really, it was menial work that was designed to show him just how much power Starfleet had over his life.

_As if I didn’t know that already_ , Pike thought to himself.

He made his way to the receptionist’s desk and pasted a charming smile onto his face. “Could you tell me where I could find Phillip Boyce?”

The receptionist glared up at him, but pointed down the hallway to his left. She muttered out some directions briefly before she became absorbed by the PADD in front of her. Pike scowled at her, but thanked her none the less.

He lost his way once before he found the door to Boyce’s office. It wasn’t exactly hidden, but it wasn’t really noticeable, either. It was a plain door, not even a nameplate on it, nestled between a break room and what looked to be a closet of some variety. If Medical was going for the ‘hiding in plain sight‘ idea, they were doing pretty well. Chris blew out a breath, straightened his posture and knocked twice on the door. He waited a moment before he heard the muffled ‘Enter‘ come from the other side.

Chris stepped into the room and was greeted by a man sitting behind a large mahogany desk, sipping a martini and staring at a PADD. Chris walked forward and stood before the desk and waited. And...waited. And waited some more. He was about to clear his throat when Boyce put the PADD down and glanced up at him.

“Care for a drink?” Boyce asked him in a causal tone.

Chris gave him a quizzical look, and Boyce sighed. “I find that in situations where the tensions are running high, alcohol has a way of calming nerves. So, since it’s apparent that you don’t want to be here, and that I have access to alcohol, I’ll ask again. Care for a drink?”

“Have any Saurian brandy?” Chris asked.

“You’re in luck. I just picked up a bottle yesterday,” Boyce replied as he pushed a button on his COMM panel. A discrete section of wall panelling slid away to reveal a nicely stocked wet bar. Boyce moved to the bar and then poured a snifter of brandy for Chris and mixed a fresh martini for himself before he came back to the desk. He replaced the panel hiding the bar and settled himself behind the desk. “So, you must be the security that I was told about,” Boyce started after a sip of the martini.

“Captain Christopher Pike, at your service,” Chris replied.

“Though not of your own volition, it would seem,” Boyce added. Chris inclined his head and took a sip of the brandy. He felt the bloom of heat grow and then fade in his chest before answering the unasked question. “That doesn’t mean that I won’t complete this job with anything less than my full attention.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Boyce placated.“What I am interested in was why they sent me a captain, and not some grunt from security.”

Chris thought for a moment. He didn’t have to say anything to Boyce, but Chris's gut was telling him that if he gave the doctor a bit of insight to his motivations that the operation would go smoother.

“Call it penance,” Chris told him after a moment.

Boyce nodded, “Good enough for me. I’ll have the information sent to your PADD. You obviously don’t want to be here and I’m certain that you have other things that you could be attending to. Unless there’s something that you wanted to tell me?”

“Nothing comes to mind,” Chris told him and he finished the last of his brandy.

“Well then, Captain Pike, I’ll see you in two days time.”

*

The hall itself seemed just a little too grand to be the venue for the convention of medical science. The marble floors and open space didn’t seem to lend themselves to the idea of people debating each other all at the same time. The fabric that was draped around the columns at the perimeter of the room didn’t seem to help with muffling of the echoes, but as he walked through the door with David McCoy, Leonard wasn’t assaulted with the cacophony of noise that he was prepared to hear. The only discomfort in the room was the humid and oppressive air. Despite the opulent, vaulted ceilings high above their heads, there seemed to be no circulation. _It must be due to all the bags of hot air that are milling about,_ Len mused cynically.

The symposium- ‘Celebration of Modern Science’ his mind corrected- was supremely engaging. Leonard couldn’t help but walk amidst his colleagues who were both presenting and critiquing. He paused at each presenter, listened to gain a synopsis of the project and asked technical and incisive questions. He debated with each person about the techniques used, variables discussed and other complications that could arise throughout treatments. Any weakness in the process were exploited ruthlessly, and all with a smug grin and an air of defiance. Engaging these researchers in this way would ensure that he was remembered as the up-and-coming genius that he is.

He drifted from the main hall to the smaller antechamber where men and women were clustered into small groups. Some were chatting, some were drinking, some were talking on COMMs, but all of them had a tense set to their shoulders regardless of the fake smiles pasted onto their faces. Leonard was in his element here: prowling from one person to the next and charming them and at the same time probing them for new ideas to manipulate for his own purposes. He acted almost like a debutante. He drawled out gracious words and soft smiles and ended conversations with false promises.

It was easy, in part because his name was McCoy. His father, David McCoy is world renowned. David was an incredible cardiac surgeon with a streak of cruelty in him that made him equal parts feared and revered. His name was only whispered through hospitals, for fear of summoning the man and paying for the waste of his time with their life. David McCoy spent his whole life maneuvering into that particular position of power. At twenty four years old, Leonard was familiar with power and it's benefits. He wanted that power. Wanted it desperately.

The other part of his easy manipulations was because he's gorgeous. Measuring in at six foot one with miles of tanned, freckled skin and dark hair, plush lips and hazel eyes. It was child's play to smile and drawl honeyed words into the ears of men and women in superior position. He promised them dark delights through innuendo in exchange for uninteresting and simple answers. The way that he held himself -so sure of his looks and intellect...it made people want to be the one to crawl under his skin and get lost in him.

He introduced himself into a conversation involving father and one of the more well known researchers in the field of neuropathology. When Leonard caught the signature flash of red that he associated with Starfleet he looked to his father. He knew that the event was hosted by Starfleet Medical. He had seen the science blues of some of the researchers that weren’t complete idiots. However, the red uniforms that were walking through the antechamber belong to security. Which big-wig in Starfleet wants to come here?

He sent a questioning eyebrow to his father, who narrowed his eyes and followed the entourage’s progress through the main doors. He excused himself from the conversation, and after a moment followed the pack back into the main hall. Leonard pushed his father’s odd behavior into the back of his mind and focused on the researcher in front of him that was melting into a puddle of goo at his feet. _Pathetic,_ Leonard sneered, though his face looked earnest, as though he was hanging on every word.

*

David McCoy found his way back into the main hall of the symposium only moments after the entourage slipped through the doors. He made his way through the sea of people, all stopped in their actions as the group made it’s way into the heart of the convocation. It was easy to part the sea of people and find his way to the front of the crowd. No one was trying to gain the notice of the group of Starfleet personnel.

He paused for a moment, hoping that someone would address the small gathering of personnel. He was about to call out when he heard is name crop up throughout conversations.

“Can I help you?” David asked from behind the line of red shirts, and the two men in the center of the circle looked up at him.

“Ah, you must be David McCoy,” the one dressed in the Starfleet Medical dress uniform stated. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Well, you’ve found me. How can I help you?” David answered smoothly. In actuality, he was sweating and his heart rate was elevated, but there is no way that he was going to let these Starfleet monkeys know that.

“Pike, call off your hounds and let this man through,” Starfleet Medical told the man standing next to him. David determined that the other man, Pike, was the head of the security detail. It was clear not only from the way that Starfleet Medical demanded him to allow David through, but also from the way that a simple grunt from Pike ensured that David was accompanied through the human barricade and searched for weapons. Once the security team was satisfied, Starfleet Medical walked over to him with a grin and an outstretched hand.

“Phillip Boyce,” the man introduced himself. “Chief of Medicine at Starfleet Medical.”

“Well, Phillip Boyce, it is a pleasure,” David McCoy returned. He wasn’t so stupid as to assume that Boyce didn’t have a dossier on him. Boyce knew his name and his accomplishments. David was sure anything else that they wanted to know about him was available to them so he didn’t volunteer any information. “So, why were you looking for me?”

Boyce scanned his face and then asked, “McCoy, tell me about your research into Capellan Hemorrhagic Fevers.”

David was internally stunned, but outwardly gracious. This project was secret; he hadn’t told anyone about the research, save for his team. No one in Starfleet should have known about it. The fact that they did wasn’t surprising, but the leak in his research team needed to be addressed and then stopped. (Read: killed.) If Starfleet was uncovering information about a project that hadn’t even been approved yet, David almost cringed imaging what other kinds of information could have been leaked.

David told Boyce about the general premise of the research and some of the preliminary tests that he put in place in order to determine which genes to target and how those genes regulated viscera. On a whim, David threw in a test that he knew they would never use for this project, just to see how much Boyce knew about the research. David caught the glint and consequent subtle narrowing of his eyes, but Boyce didn’t say anything outright about the folly.

Boyce nodded in comprehension as McCoy talked about the ‘secret‘ project that he had waiting in the wings. It was interesting and refreshing to see that even though David McCoy was a cardiologist, he still had a wide breadth of knowledge on current research techniques and how the research process actually worked. He noted, with interest, that McCoy had the audacity to try to test him about the depth of his knowledge about the project, and Boyce grudgingly gave him an inch of respect. It was rare that Boyce was tested, and when he was, it was always done by a superior. Once McCoy was finished giving him just a little bit of the information that he had already acquired, Boyce nodded again finally before speaking. “It’s good to know that you have an interest in not only your chosen field, but also in genetics research, Doctor. It will be very helpful to you in Starfleet to cultivate that wide interest.”

David McCoy’s eyes widened, though he managed to keep his mouth shut, lest it hang open in shock. Starfleet? No. There was no way. He was thriving in Atlanta, he was feared and hated by co-workers and lauded by superiors, there was no way that Phillip Boyce was going to take that away from him. “Pardon me, Dr. Boyce, but I could have sworn you just told me that it was important I cultivate my interests for Starfleet.”

“That is correct,” Boyce told him levelly.

“That’s impossible,” David McCoy started almost frantic. “I work in the most prestigious hospitals in Atlanta. I don’t need to enlist.”

“Starfleet is well aware of your employment, Dr. McCoy. However, because Starfleet is the force of the Terran Empire, we don’t care where you are, or what you’re doing right now. The Empire wants you, and you will obey. Or you could be tried for treason. Your call.” Boyce, content with the turn of events, turned to issue a command to Pike when David’s voice stopped him.

“I don’t know that you want _me_ , though,” David threw out. He was definitely frantic now, and Boyce paused to look at him and raised an eyebrow. “I’m at the end of my career, I know what I’m doing, yes, but I’d only be good to you for a few more years. Why pick me when you could have someone younger, stronger, better than me?”

Boyce peered at him with interest. “And who would you choose to take your place?”

The tone of the question was indifferent, but the gleam in Boyce’s eye said that David had him right on the edge of changing his mind. David wracked his brain for a suitable person to give to Starfleet, when Boyce interrupted him. “I’ll help you out. It’s either you, or your son, Leonard.”

David blinked.

Boyce took a moment to let that sink in. David looked to be reeling inside, just how he wanted the other man. “He’s brilliant, your son. Oh yes, we’ve looked into him. And I have to say, if I can’t have you, I’d gladly take him off your hands. Pretty thing like that, and brains to boot? Oh yes, he’d make a great...addition...to the Empire,” Boyce said through a smirk.

“Done,” David answered.

“Is that so? Interesting. Chris,” Boyce glanced over his shoulder to Pike with a gleam in his eye. “Do me a favor and send an affirmative to Spock.” Boyce turned back to David. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, doctor.”

*

It was a half hour of mindless chatter later that Leonard extricated himself from the antechamber of the hall and found David McCoy. He was talking earnestly with the only person who wasn’t dressed in red in the small group, which intrigued Leonard. Not the act of David talking to someone, but the tone of the conversation. It was almost as though David was bargaining for something, which was absurd, because David McCoy hadn’t bargained for anything in fifteen years.

Leonard sauntered toward his father, and was stopped just outside of the range of hearing by what looked to be the man in charge of the red shirts. He stood with his legs shoulder width apart, arms crossed over his chest as he scanned the room. “I’m going to have to stop you there, kid,” the man told him in an almost absent minded tone.

Leonard was taken aback. Kid? No, not so much. “I’m not really a kid,” he quipped.

The man didn’t seem impressed. “Regardless, I can’t let you any further.”

Leonard wasn’t really one to push buttons unless he needed to.

“Look, I don’t want to make your life difficult. Why don’t you just let me get through here and I’ll make it worth your while,” Leonard drawled low and sweet.

“I bet that works on all the hicks back home,” Pike answered as he leaned in close to deliver the sultry whisper, “but it doesn’t work on men who actually have some-”

“Ah, there he is now. Len,” David called out to him as he walked forward to his son and the cocky man in charge, “come here, I want to introduce you to someone.”

This is one of those cases.

Leonard looked to his father, looked back at the man in front of him and raised an eyebrow. “Can you let me through now?”

“Chris, come now, let the boy through,” The other man that David had been talking to called out.

Chris glared at Leonard as he let the young man pass. “Thanks, Chris,” Leonard whispered and grinned as he walked past.

“It’s Pike,” he growled at Leonard.

“Yeah, yeah,” Leonard threw over his shoulder. He walked calmly over to his father and the guest. His father seemed tense, again, a sight that he hadn’t seen in close to fifteen years. His father shot him a tight shake of the head, and Leonard eased himself into space without showing any sign of hesitance. “Gentlemen,” Leonard greeted easily with a lazy smirk.

“You must be Leonard McCoy. I’m Phillip Boyce, Chief of Medicine at Starfleet Medical and that man that you were just irritating to no end was Christopher Pike, my current head of security.”

Leonard raised his eyebrows, but kept his composure. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir.”

“Likewise,” Boyce murmured as he leered at Leonard. Leonard took it easily; it wasn’t as though he’d never been checked out by a man of importance before. “Your father has been telling me a lot about you, Leonard,” Boyce continued.

“Please, call me Len. And what did he have to say? Only good things I hope,” Leonard replied easily.

“Oh yes, only good things. Your rise through schooling, your PhD work, most of your accomplishments. It’s amazing to see that kind of hard work and devotion in a twenty-four year old, Len.”

“I’m so pleased that my accomplishments have kept you engaged for so long,” Leonard drawled as he tried to fight down a blush. Between the lauding and the leers, Leonard was a little overwhelmed by Phillip Boyce, but damned if he was going to show it.

Boyce waited for a few moments, looking the younger McCoy up and down before giving McCoy senior a tight nod. The older man seemed to relax marginally and Boyce cleared his throat. “I’ll be watching your career closely,” Boyce told to Leonard. With a finality that was meant as a dismissal, he looked to both of them. “Doctors.”

David and Leonard both rose and shook Phillip’s hand before they exited the human barrier. They walked in silence, David in the lead and McCoy trailing not far behind, until they left the convention all together and wound up a few blocks away at a deserted looking park. “What the hell was that?” Leonard asked his father once they got settled on a nearby park bench.

“Starfleet knows about the Capellan project,” David whispered to his son as he scanned his surroundings.

Leonard gaped at him. “Do you know who leaked the information? What does he know? Why did he tell you?”

“No, I don’t know who leaked it, but I have my suspicions,” David answered slowly and then sagged back on the bench. “But they will not be addressed until I can meet with the researchers again.

“As for what he knows, I’m not sure. I told him a little bit of the background information, and he seemed to know that that information was good. When I slipped in a piece of information that was wrong, he didn’t jump on the mistake, however, I could tell that he knew that I was trying to test him, and he wasn’t going to show his cards.”

David looked down at his hands before answering the final question. “He told me what he knows because he wanted to recruit me to Starfleet.”

“He what?” Leonard asked, and the volume of his voice could almost be classified as a yell.

David looked up at him sharply. “Did I stutter, boy? He tried to recruit me to Starfleet. I told him no and he didn’t push the matter.”

Leonard stared at his father through narrowed eyes. “ _‘No one says no to the Empire. If they want you, they take you.’_ That’s what you told me when I was a kid. Now, I learned from you that if you have something better up your sleeve, you can maybe distract people from yourself. But that doesn’t always work, and usually not in your favor.” Leonard stopped and took a breath to fortify his resolve, then soldiered on. “So, since they didn’t escort you out of the convention, they must have stumbled upon something that was better than you. What was it?”

“Hell if I know,” David barked at his son. “All I did was tell them about the research, then when he wanted to recruit me, I told him that there were many people who were younger and better and more driven than I am, and that they would be better suited to enlistment in Starfleet.”

“How did you get to talking about me?” Leonard demanded, and he knew- as soon as the words left his mouth- that that wasn’t the right question to ask.

David McCoy stilled and looked at his son with hard, cold eyes. “You are my son. Not my colleague, not my friend. You are my property. If I want to talk about you, then I will, and you will enjoy the fact that I’m lauding you and not condemning you. Are we clear?”

Leonard clamped his jaw shut and his muscles twitched. “Yes,” He ground out.

“Yes, what?” David asked menacingly, and there’s a threat in the accompanying stare that doesn’t bode well for Leonard’s well being.

“Yes, sir.” Leonard hadn’t called his father ‘sir’ in years, and the retreat back to such titles grated on him. His father was right, they weren’t colleagues or friends, but Leonard was better than his father: at research and at practicing medicine. He knew this, and on some level, he was pretty sure that David knew it, too. So Leonard bit his tongue and waited.

“Good. Now, let’s get the hell out of here. I need a drink and then a shuttle back to Atlanta.”

*

Phillip Boyce walked with a confidence that almost warned you of the god like complex that made up most his personality. His nose didn’t stick up in the air, exactly, but everyone knew that he had places to go and people to see. He was a doctor, after all, it wasn’t as though he wasn’t busy.

It was with this confidence that Boyce walked to Commander Spock’s office across campus. After meeting the McCoy men at the Celebration of Research, Boyce sent a COMM to the Vulcan commander, requesting a meeting about a potential applicant to Starfleet Medical. Due to Spock’s welcoming embrace of technicalities and compulsive use of logic, he was the man that handled the paperwork of those who never applied to Starfleet but ended up there anyway. Normally, conscripting someone into the service of the Empire wasn’t this much hassle, but after a bit of digging, Boyce had run in to a problem.

Leonard McCoy was property of David McCoy by virtue of being David’s son. That was pretty normal; the problem was that even though Leonard was twenty-four years old and should be a free man, he technically wasn’t. His father had drawn up a contract that stated that as long as Leonard was working for him, Leonard was his property. So, unless Boyce could find a reason to seize David’s assets, Leonard was unreachable.

Boyce paused outside Spock’s office door and knocked twice. He waited for a moment as the door opened, and then walked to the visitors chairs that sat in front of the cherry wood desk. He sat in one of the offered chairs and waited for Spock to start the conversation.

“Who has become unattainable for you, Doctor Boyce?” Spock asked right away. Boyce could appreciate the directness.

“Leonard McCoy,” Boyce answered him.

“And why is he unattainable?” “His father, David McCoy, has him under contract. As long as Leonard is working with David, he owns Leonard as a slave, essentially.”

Spock paused at this statement. That was a bit of an issue. If David McCoy legally owned this man, then there wasn’t really a lot that could be done. Starfleet legal could attempt to find a flaw in the contract, but more often than not the legal department was trying to cover the asses of command staff who didn’t know how to toe the line of legality in public.

“...if he were to die, and if the contract was standard, then the likelihood of Leonard being freed would be 95.76%,” Spock intoned as he tilted his head to the side, calculating.

He watched as a small smile slid into place on Boyce’s face. “Would the way that he died be of any importance?”

“I would have to read the actual contract, but there is a significantly higher chance that if the father died with malicious intent, then the son would not be freed of the contract.”

“I’ll have a copy of the contract to you by the end of business today.” Boyce told him and left the office without another word.

Good to his word, there was a COMM waiting for Spock later that afternoon. Looking over the document, the commander found the clause that he was looking for, and a few other interesting tidbits of information.

_Dr. Boyce:_

_The contract states that if the son were to kill the father, then the son would become property of the family, and would not be free of his servitude. However, if the father were to die of something benign in intent, then the son would be free of the contract he signed._

_Another interesting piece of information: if Leonard McCoy were to be conscripted into service for the Empire, there is a clause that states that he would require a patron. This patron-ship would be witnessed by a surviving member of the family. Patronage law states that patrons may only benefit one subordinate at a time, and seeing as you already have a subordinate that is benefitting from your patronage, you would need to ensure that someone else would take him._

_Commander Spock_

Boyce read the COMM for what felt like the tenth time that night. There was no getting around it: David had to die, it had to look like an accident, and he needed to find someone who would be interested in starting a patronage with McCoy. The first part of the plan would be relatively easy; Capellan fevers were under-researched, and it would be simple enough to stage David McCoy’s accidental death. It was the last bit of the COMM that was giving Boyce trouble.

It was true, he already had a subordinate that benefitted from his patronage. Geoffrey M’Benga was a second year resident that Boyce had hand picked from the medical school that he was attending in New York because of the potential that he saw in the man. That, and the lush lips and that delectable ass. But mostly for the potential.

It was easy to persuade M’Benga to join the Academy for his residency. Boyce spoke of all the cutting edge research and the brand new facilities and the younger man was hooked. It was later that M’Benga confessed that he couldn’t afford to travel to Starfleet, let alone stay there to complete his residency, without some help. So, Boyce took the younger man under his wing, and suddenly Boyce found himself to be a patron.

Now, though, Boyce wanted his new toy desperately. He was seriously debating killing M’Benga, or at least letting him wash out financially, just to get his hands on McCoy, but that meant having to choose between the two men, and that really wasn’t the end goal. It was a difficult decision to make, but Boyce knew that he could find a way to get both of these men into Starfleet Medical.

With that decision made, Boyce began to plot.

*

Leonard McCoy’s life had slowly begun to settle down, once he and his father returned to Georgia. After the leak with the research project had been assessed and the proper technicians were...dealt with, life around the McCoy family grounds was subdued. There were advances made in the project and Leonard and his father were both busy, but both men found that there was a little extra time in the day to attend to personal matters.

For David, this involved correspondence with other hospitals, making sure that he was available for consultations and receiving new patients. This was nothing novel for David McCoy, more of the same negotiation that happened every day. What was different for him was the constant worry that Starfleet would contact him or Leonard again. There was an almost compulsive need for David to check all the incoming transmissions, even the ones for Leonard, before he let Leonard see them.

That was how David found out about Jocelyn Darnell.

She was a true southern belle with blonde haired and blue eyes. She was tanned perfection with a mouth that poured honey coated vitriol. She stumbled into Leonard’s life when he was out on the town, having a drink or two to celebrate the beginning of the new project. She was attempting to gain the admiration of one of the other patrons (or so she said) and flirted with him all night. It was easy, and fun, and Leonard was actually dreading leaving her for the night. When she gave him her COMM frequency, he was delighted and sooner than he would have expected Leonard found himself making plans to see her and bringing her around the family.

Soon Jocelyn was attempting to insinuate herself into the McCoy clan by attending parties, stopping by to deliver a message from her father to David or just waiting for Leonard to finish in the lab so that they could head out on the town. On the one hand, David was happy that his son had found someone to indulge him. On the other hand, David knew that Leonard could do infinitely better than Jocelyn Darnell.

The Darnells heralded from a long line of people who claimed to be Darnells, but were never legitimized. Previous generations had allowed scandalous affairs to continue and allowed the offspring to be welcome in the family. The lack of propriety within the previous generations, and the casual admittance of bastards was enough to grate on David, but when his son started to show an interest in Jocelyn, it took all of David’s will not to put a stop to it.

As much as the Darnell clan grated on David, he knew that Jocelyn was a passing fancy. There was no way that Leonard would allow a woman that was so obviously beneath him to be anything other than a notch in the bedpost, so David left her alone.

David had to remind himself of this every day, and every day Leonard would bring her around and take her to events. It was irritating, but eventually it became common place. It got to a point where David wasn’t surprised to see her in the den with Leonard when he was going to sleep, and then early in the morning when he was going to get his coffee. They weren’t married, but they had definitely become serious, and that was something that he had to talk to his son about soon.

That night, after David went to sleep, Leonard fucked Jocelyn through the mattress. She laid awake until she knew Leonard was asleep, slipped out of the bed without jostling Leonard and glided across the room to the door. She opened it silently and slipped into the hallway. She let out a quiet breath and made her way down the ancient stairs, jumping the last three and landing lightly on the balls of her feet. From there, she relaxed a touch as she made her way to the basement lab.

Once she was in the lab, there was a moment of hesitation in finding the correct vial of virus. Three of the walls were lined with coolers, each with numbered shelves. In lab notebooks, each shelf, each vial, each component was accounted for; the fourth was a cabinet of glassware, pipets and dry components that needed to be stored at room temperature. In the center of the room there were two long benches that were cleaned unto they gleamed, the tabletops humming with the anti-biota protocols, making sure any unwanted contaminant was destroyed until the next experiment could be started. She glided over to the wall on the left side of the room and plucked a vial from the middle shelf. The intelligence that she had received told her that this vial was live virus with a mutation that allowed for an almost super infectivity.

She loaded the vial into a hypospray, then made sure that everything else was the same as she had found it before she left the lab and found her way back up the ancient stairs and stopping before the squeaky door. She held her breath as she opened it soundlessly and floated into the room. She stopped at the head of the bed, looking down at the man sleeping on his stomach. She dropped the hypospray to his neck and depressed the mechanism that delivered the virus into his bloodstream. She pocketed the hypospray and left the room, confident that the man would be dead by the time she slipped back into bed. Once she slipped out of the room, she sent a COMM:

_Boyce,_

_It’s done. Leonard McCoy is yours._

_\--JD_

*

It was three days before news of David McCoy’s death hit Starfleet, and Phil Boyce had planned for it to happen exactly the way that it was reported. It was a tragedy that David McCoy was killed while doing late night research on a previously incurable disease, but accidents happen, after all.

Now that he was out of the way, though, there was some serious work to be done in regard to Leonard McCoy. Boyce paced his office as he thought. Leonard was to be conscripted, that was certain, but there was also the issue of his patronage. He needed someone who would look after McCoy and understand the importance of such a person to the medical branch. This obviously pointed to someone within Starfleet Medical, but the doctors that served under him were treacherous at the best of times...if he were to place such an asset into their hands…

Boyce shuddered. No, it was probably best to keep McCoy under the patronage of someone outside of medical. But he also couldn’t entrust McCoy to someone in Security, because all of those brutes would break the doctor the moment that Boyce’s back was turned.

The command track, though...that idea held some promise. Though, there were few people in that track that didn’t have patrons already. Boyce walked to his console and logged on to the Starfleet server and sent a message to Spock asking for a list of all the Command track faculty that didn’t presently have a patron. At the same time that he was waiting for Spock to reply to his query, Boyce complied a mental list of those in the command track that he trusted marginally.

The list was scant, and Boyce was debating the merits of other scientific based branches of Starfleet when the console bleeped with a new message. Boyce quickly opened the attached file and perused the list of Command track faculty that were free of patronage. His eyes scanned quickly but stuttered on a name toward the end of the list: Pike, Christopher.

Perfect.

Pike was a capable man who, as far as he knew, was callous enough to not become attached to anything that was considered expendable. Or something that wasn’t his. In fact, if it didn’t pertain to his daily activities, Chris Pike left whatever it was alone. He would be the perfect patron for McCoy: wouldn’t get attached, but knew the importance of the person that he was essentially guarding.

With a grin on his face, Boyce requested that Spock draft an order of patronage between McCoy and Pike and have it sent to Pike presently. Sure, the order would probably piss him off, but ideally Pike wouldn’t know that it came from medical and not the admiralty. It was inconvenient, but if Pike wanted his captaincy back, then he would have to be a good boy and follow orders. After all, _what use does Starfleet have for hot-shot captains that don’t know how to follow orders?_

*

The second time that Pike had to report to a room full of admirals was no better than the first time.

It didn’t help that it was the same group of admirals that he would be reporting to. It also didn’t help that he had no fucking idea why he was reporting to these admirals again after three months. He didn’t think that the meeting was called because the committee had miraculously come up with a decision on his command, or the Rigel incident, but he honestly couldn’t think of another reason for the committee to call him to a formal meeting.

Pike stopped at the door, took a steadying breath then knocked once. He only waited a moment before the door opened into a room that was very similar to the previous one. The members of the committee were seated on a dais in the same order that they were seated in before, except now there was an additional member on the left side of the room.

Commander Spock was one of the candidates that was presented to Pike while he was choosing his science officers. Spock was half vulcan, unerringly logical and complacent enough to not want to move any higher on the staff. He seemed to be the perfect officer, and yet there was a gut feeling with Spock that Pike couldn’t shake. Eventually Pike turned him down and narrowed in on Number One.

Pike walked up to the podium and greeted the council in a proper, if not cold manner.

“Captain Pike,” Admiral Barnett began. “This committee has come to a conclusion about the incident involving Rigel VI.”

“We have determined that your command will be suspended,” Komack chipped in almost gleefully.

Chris tried very hard not to throw up right then and there.

“May I enquire as to how long the suspension will last?” Pike asked through a dry throat.

“Indefinitely,” Barnett answered him. “Your next assignment will be to become the Commandant of Cadets. You will be briefed tomorrow at 0700.”

Pike nodded and said, “Yes sir. Thank you, Sir,” though his head was swarming with rage. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to punch Komack, and every other admiral in there, in the face. He wanted to scream and howl and make a case for why he was right and what the other choices were.

He wanted a chance.

Instead, Pike saluted and walked out of the room and back to his tiny office and proceeded to break every fragile thing housed there, then left to take a walk and get a drink or five.

*

Spock was meditating when he heard his COMM go off from his desk. He debated not answering it, or at least letting it wait for an hour, but his sense of duty told him that he needed to abort his meditation attempt. Sighing, he got up from the mat that he had laid down in the corner near the window of his office and crossed to his desk.

He opened the new communication from Philip Boyce and scanned the contents. Upon ascertaining the message, Spock sat down at the chair and methodically read every line of the communication.

_Commander Spock:_

_I need a contract of patronage between Leonard H. McCoy and Captain Christopher Pike. It pertains to the conscription of McCoy to Starfleet. Send the contract to Pike; he needs to have it witnessed by a member of the McCoy family._

_Dr. Philip Boyce_

Of course, the contract that McCoy had signed with his father stated that if he were to be conscripted into the service of the Empire, that he would need a patron. That, coupled with the fact Captain Pike was essentially bound to obey every request from the Admiralty. It was only logical for Boyce to request that the now grounded captain take in the new cadet. Spock’s lips twitched in what only a Vulcan could call a smile, and started to draft the contract.

*

The next morning he awoke to a blaring alarm, a pounding head and a hazy recollection of what happened the night before. It wasn’t an odd way to wake up, it just hadn't happened since he received his captaincy…

His captaincy.

His demotion.

“Fuck,” Chris groaned as he brought a hand up to hold his head. It was far too early in the morning for this. He got up out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. It was his one indulgence because coffee from a replicator always tasted as though it was just hot water and food coloring. After starting the coffee, Chris poured himself into the shower and robotically got ready for the day.

He arrived promptly at his office at 0655. He looked at the mess that he had left behind, and promised himself that he would clean up a bit after the briefing. Right now there wasn’t any time. Chris logged on to the Starfleet server and synched his COMM to his computer before a request for communication took over his monitor. It was from Commander Spock. With a sigh, Chris accepted the communication.

“Captain,” Spock greeted.

“Commander Spock,” Chris answered. Technically, he wasn’t a captain anymore, but he wasn’t going to correct Spock. He was there, he knew about his rank.

“As Commandant of Cadets, you will be responsible for the cadet population, in that you will be responsible for advising final year students, assigning first year students advisors, taking some advisees on yourself, and punishing students that become a...nuisance.”

Somehow Chris wasn’t really prepared for the jump straight into the briefing of his new assignment, but he could appreciate the directness that was quintessential Spock. “As the semester has not begun yet, your first assignment will be to retrieve conscripted cadets. Currently, there is only one cadet that is being conscripted: Leonard H. McCoy of Atlanta, Georgia. I will forward a dossier of relevant information to you presently. Is your assignment clear?” Spock asked without any malice.

“Yes, Sir,” Chris replied. “Very good. The dossier will arrive in two minutes.” And with that, Spock terminated the connection.

Chris let out a sigh, shoved the self pity that he was feeling viscously down and started to clean his office. Once the trash was disposed of, Chris looked around the office and found that there weren’t any personal items in the room. It was barren, almost sterile. If he was going to spend a lot of time planet side, and if this was going to stay his office, then there would have to be some changes made.

A soft pinging from his desk brought him from the center of the room back to his console. The message from Spock contained the dossier that he was waiting for, along with travel information and an address where he could find the wayward cadet. At the very back of the dossier was a contract, on first glance. After he gave himself a second to comprehend that, Chris stopped and looked at the title of the document, then blinked and looked at it again.

_Contract of Patronage_

_Are you_ fucking _kidding me?_ On top of taking away his ship and making him the babysitter of the fucking Academy, they wanted him to have a patron? This, Leonard McCoy? Chris flipped to the front of the dossier and looked at the picture for the first time and swore under his breath. He knew this kid. It was the smartass from the research symposium that he attended with Boyce.

The kid was gorgeous, he had to admit, but he was always a sucker for the tall, tanned and competent. But there was more with this kid. Everything about him was sinfully smooth. Like an aged whiskey, there was a bit of a bite, but it was soothed by the warm burn that seemed to only be directed at you...and that accent...Chris shook his head, as though to shake away the thoughts of the kid.

The worst part of the whole damn situation was that he couldn’t say no. If there was any chance that he was going to get his command back at the end of this, he needed to ‘be a good boy and follow directions’. Chris swallowed back the rage that he felt at everything and tried to calm himself.

Chris looked at the travel information page of the dossier and then to the chrono on the wall across the room. He was to catch a shuttle to Atlanta at 1100 hours, and the chrono currently read 0815 hours. That gave him two hours and change to be ready to fly to Atlanta. He bent down to grab his gym bag and swiped his communicator before he left his office. There was time to beat the hell out of a punching bag before getting back to his office and dealing with this mess that he’d inherited.

*

By the time that Chris got onto the shuttle to Atlanta his head was spinning with all of the information he was trying to process. The number of cadets that he was in charge of for the year was larger than his last crew, and it took him a good three days to make sure that he knew their names and any other pertinent information about them. Between all of those new faces that he had to be familiar with, and the order of patronage, Pike was pretty overwhelmed, though damned if he would let anyone know that.

Patronage. Benefitting Leonard _fucking_ McCoy. Chris took a breath and held it for a few seconds before dispelling it and shaking his head. He needed to find a member of the McCoy clan as well, so that they could witness that the contract was real and legitimate and anything else that it needed to be. Of course the kid couldn’t make it easy for him.

Chris shook his head as he fastened his safety harness and relaxed back into the seat. There was an announcement over the PA system as the familiar purring of the engines in the shuttle moved through his body. Chris heaved a sigh, content with his proximity to something that he was used to. Soon enough the shuttle was lifting off the ground and carting him to bum-fuck Atlanta, so he shut his eyes and reminded himself that this was his life now, and that he might as well get used to it.

*

Leonard hadn’t stepped foot in the old farmhouse sober since he buried his father. Granted, it had been two days since the funeral, and he was still well within his rights to act like an alcoholic if he wanted to because he was grievin’, damn it. Or at least, he was supposed to be. At the moment all he could be was excited because there was no foul play suspected in the death of his father, and that meant gettin’ the fuck outta Atlanta. He raised a glass in mock toast to that notion and knocked back the last finger of Knob Creek before pouring another finger or four.

It did get a little lonely, though. It was only David and Leonard in the house full time. Research underlings came and went, and when David died, Leonard had fired them all. The accompanying quiet was a welcome, the house was dark and comforting. He knew every scratch in the floors, every squeaky floor board, every dent in the walls. The whole house was filled with memories: Of his mother, standing over pots and pans in the kitchen, of his father sitting in the den with a glass of scotch and a medical journal. It was almost too quiet...the memories too overwhelming with no one but himself as a reprieve from the quiet. He almost longed for the stop and go steps of people hurrying around trying to complete tests. The jazz records quelled the feeling of isolation, and the whiskey made him numb enough to not care about...well anything really.

As he was musing on thoughts to go out and get a piece of ass (because the fact that he was essentially blaspheming over the fact that his father was now dead made Jocelyn turn and run, and no matter how much he wanted to be, Leonard McCoy was not made for constant isolation) when there was a pounding on the door. Which was really a bit of overkill because it wasn’t as though he wasn’t answering the door at all. He was just lost in thought for a moment. He walked (read: stumbled) to the door and wrenched it open. “Christ on a cracker, I was gettin‘ there,” he slurred before he could focus on who was actually at his door. Once he did, the Starfleet red shirt was enough to make him lucid in about three seconds. Standing straighter and more aware of his three day old beard than he was ever before, Leonard tried again. “Starfleet? What the hell do you want?”

_Much better_ Leonard thought to himself. _Really smooth, Leonard._ Chris willed himself not to recoil when the door was answered. Booze rolled off of the man in waves, and the three day beard was a sight to behold. That, however, was not the only reason for the recoil. Chris remembered Leonard McCoy. He remembered the accent, the tanned skin, those lips that looked like they were made to suck cock. Apparently, though, Chris didn’t remember how they all looked together on one body. Leonard McCoy was a sight to behold: wild and stubborn even when he was drunk off his ass.

Drunken eyes landed on the security uniforms so characteristic of Starfleet and they bugged out before the man straightened and demanded to know the who and why of the situation.

“Chris Pike, Commandant of Cadets at Starfleet Academy. As to what I want, I’m here to collect you for Doctor Phil Boyce, Chief of Medicine at Starfleet Medical. You’ll be joining us for the fall semester,” Chris told him looking almost bored with the situation.

Leonard’s mouth fell open and he gaped like a fish for the thirty seconds that it took this Chris Pike to explain himself. Leonard gaped for a minute, then couldn’t stop the words that came out of his mouth. “Come again? You think that you’re...what, conscripting me to Starfleet? No. There’s no way. I’m a free man as of three days ago and I plan on continuing to be a free man, not enslaved to Starfleet and the Empire. You can kindly fuck off.”

Leonard moved to close the door, but encountered resistance at the last moment in the form of Chris Pike’s boot. Leonard looked down and then back up to the smiling face that didn’t project any kind of reassurance, before he was forced to step back as the door was forced open by Pike’s shoulder. He walked calmly into the house and shut the door quietly behind him before he spoke.

“Actually, you’re not. You’re property of the Empire, and as I’m the only person here that’s representative of the Empire, you belong to me,” Chris said in a matter of fact tone with a smirk on his face.

“God damn...” Leonard breathed out. He looked up at Pike as fear flashed across his face before he threw a mask of determination on his face. He turned and walked out of the foyer and into a room that was emitting soft jazz music. Chris followed him and watched McCoy swallow down the last of something alcoholic before pouring another glass of the amber liquid. Leonard turned back to him, “I’m not going with you.”

“Fine. You don’t have to. Just stay here then, and wallow in your jazz and your whiskey. I have some business to attend to for the time being, but tonight you are going with me whether you like it or not.”

Leonard looked at him as though curious of the ‘business’ that he needed to attend to.

“I need a signature,” Pike told him icily. Really, he didn’t want to tell him anything, but Leonard had a way of making him open up, even if he didn’t want to.

“You’ll have a hell of a time trying to get a signature with an attitude like that,” Leonard huffed before knocking back a good swallow of bourbon.

“I think that the Starfleet insignia might make things a bit easier,” Pike spat back.

He walked toward the doorway to the foyer. “If you’re not here when I get back, I have the authority to hunt you down and forcibly haul you to Starfleet.”

“I’m not a child, Pike. I know that if I run you have all the resources of the Empire to hunt me down and kill me,” Leonard sneered at him.

Pike looked at him for a moment before snarling, “ I did hunt you down. And I have half a mind to haul you back to San Francisco right fucking now. But I won’t, because I have business to attend to, and I really like to watch you squirm. And if you run again, and I have to track your ass down again, I don’t think I would waste all that time just to kill you.” He turned then, and walked out of the room that served as a library and into the foyer. He pulled out his PADD and logged onto Starfleet’s server and searched Leonard McCoy’s name and known family.

He found that the McCoy family acted more like a clan, and all of them had settled near each other. There were a few of David McCoy’s brothers settled in Atlanta. With a few addresses in hand, Pike left the McCoy farmhouse and settled in the hover car and programmed it to the first address in his PADD.

*

Chris knocked on the door of the apartment door and waited for the man who owned the apartment to answer. It was one of David’s brothers…a Horatio McCoy. What was with this family and names that were popular three hundred years ago? Anyway, the man had apparently served in Starfleet previously, so Chris wasn’t worried about gleaning a signature from the man. Two seconds of his time, and then never to be heard from again.

The person who answered the door was...surprising. It was a woman, small in stature, but the look in her eyes told Chris that if ever there was a woman that he didn’t want to cross, it was this one. Chris took a deep breath and let a genteel smile grace his face.

“Good evening, Ma’am. I was wondering if Mr. McCoy was in?”

“Who’s askin’?” She asked skeptically.

“My name is Christopher Pike, Ma’am. I’m the Commandant of Cadets at Starfleet,” Chris answered calmly.

“And why does the Commandant of Cadets want to talk to my Horatio?” She was still skeptical, but the limited body language that he could see told Chris that she was more willing to listen to him now.

“All I need is a signature, Ma’am. Leonard McCoy, David’s son, is trying to join Starfleet, but the contract that he signed with his father states that if David were to die unexpectedly that Leonard would need to be under the care of a patron. That way Leonard would be in good hands throughout his stay with Starfleet.” Pike knew that it was a lie, but he needed the signature, damn it all, and he was just about ready to do anything to get it.

“Well, I’m terribly sorry to inform you, Commandant Pike, but Horatio isn’t here right now. Why don’t you come on back tomorrah, and we can get that signature all squared away then?”

The tone of her voice was almost sickly sweet, but Chris didn’t fall for the trap. “Are you sure that that’s the earliest that this can be handled? I have some pressing matters back at San Francisco that should be dealt with tonight…” He replied.

“Well, I hate ta disappoint,” She answered as she looked him up and down, “but Horatio really is outta town, and he won’ be back until tomorrah. Come on back aroun’ 09:30, and I’ll be sure ya get your signature.”

“I appreciate that, Ma’am. Thank you for your time,” Pike told her with a smile. When she closed the door, Chris turned and let his face fall from the fake smile plastered across his face to the frown that he wanted to wear for the past five minutes. He walked slowly back to his car and programmed the McCoy farm house.

*

Chris made it back to the McCoy farmhouse without incident. He switched the car off and climbed out, sighing at the waste of time. He walked up to the house, listening to the gravel crunch under his feet, and then stood on the porch for a moment, listening to the house creak. What the hell was he doing here? This wasn’t where he belonged. He was a starship captain, damn it, not some babysitter for the Empire. He looked up longingly at the stars and thought about all the decisions that got him stuck here until he heard the door open.

“You too proud to knock, Commandant?” Leonard asked snidely.

“Hardly,” Chris answered as he pushed past Leonard and into the house. “Sure as hell didn’t seem like it,” Leonard muttered after him.

It took most of Chris’s will power not to make a sarcastic remark. He walked further into the house, looking for a drink. Preferably alcoholic. He made his way into the kitchen and rummaged around through cabinets, looking for where David would keep his good liquor. Usually the kitchen was a good place to hide liquor, but apparently not in the McCoy family. He really wanted to check the den that Leonard was currently sulking in, but unless he wanted to end up with Leonard pinned against the wall with Chris in his face...Or maybe Leonard on his knees with a wall behind him and Chris’s body in front of him...Or maybe Leonard pinned to the wall with Chris running his hands over that back, _that ass_ , using him…

Chris shook his head. Now he really needed that drink. Sighing, he steeled himself and walked into the den. Leonard was sitting in the chair behind the great desk, sock clad feet propped up on the corner admiring the way that the lamp light shined through a low ball of what looked to be a fine whiskey.

Chris studied the artful slump that Leonard was exhibiting and took in the rest of the room. The wall directly behind Leonard was filled with books. He was sure that there were medical texts abound, but he was sure that there were also books that revealed who the McCoy men were; maybe novels that were well worn favorites, or titles that tickled their fancy. The surrounding walls were painted a dark green that offset the mahogany book cases and desk. There were sconces on the edges of the cases that emitted a soft glow throughout the room. To the left, there was a small table holding the absolutely ancient, yet well taken care of record player emitting the smooth jazz that suffused the room. Next to the table sat an ancient leather chair that looked to have seen better days, but he bet was more comfortable than anything else in this house. The floor was dark hard wood that was adorned with a rug that wove deep reds, greens, golds and browns together in the shape of, what he assumed to be, the McCoy crest.

“Can I help you, Commandant?” Leonard murmured into the quiet jazz.

“That the only glass of that here?” Chris countered, inclining his head toward the glass in Leonard’s hand.

The glass came up to the other man’s lips, and Chris followed it greedily. Leonard met Chris’s gaze when it flicked to his eyes, knocked it back in one swallow, and set the glass down softly on the desk. “Yup,” Leonard answered lazily.

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Is there any other booze in this god forsaken house?”

Leonard seemed to ponder that for a moment before answering. “If there was, why would I tell you?”

Chris was standing over next to Leonard in a flash. He hauled the younger man up and pressed him against the stacks, pinning him there with his body. “You listen here, boy, and you listen good,” Chris hissed through his teeth, face turning red with frustration. “I don’t care who you are, what you’ve accomplished, or why Starfleet wants you. But trust me, I don’t want to be here any more than you do. So, why don’t we make things easier for each other, and just be fucking civil until I can get you to fucking San Francisco and you can take up your irritation with the people who made the fucking decision to send me out here?”

“The only way that I would ever be civil to you is if I never had to see your face again,” Leonard hissed at him as he brought his feet down to the floor and braced himself in the chair. “Just get the fuck outta here. Get the fuck outta my life!”

Leonard seethed. “Can’t do that, _Leo_ ,” Chris murmured through a leer as he stalked to the chair. He gripped the arms of the chair, braced a knee between McCoy’s parted thighs and leaned into McCoy’s space. He registered that Leonard was pinned deliciously, and any and all movement caused a delightful friction. “I own your ass.”

“You don’t own me,” Leonard spit. “You don’t even own that uniform, how could you possibly own another person?”

Chris grinned in that way that was not reassuring in the slightest. “I owned you the minute that David sold you out to Starfleet to save his own hide. I have an order for patronage, and until I kill you, I can do whatever the fuck I want to with you. Now, instead of making you kneel and use that sinful mouth for something other than spewing acid and making me debate the merits of punching it or fucking it, how about you tell me where I can get a god damn drink in this fucking house?”

Leonard started out glaring, but when Pike told him of the patronage he gaped and reeled internally. Patronage? No. There was no way. David wouldn’t do that, would he?

_... “He told me what he knows because he wanted to recruit me to Starfleet.”_

_“He what?” Leonard asked, and the volume of his voice could almost be classified as a yell._

_David looked up at him sharply. “Did I stutter, boy? He tried to recruit me to Starfleet. I told him no and he didn’t push the matter.”_

_Leonard stared at his father through narrowed eyes. “‘No one says no to the Empire. If they want you, they take you.’ That’s what you told me when I was a kid. Now, I learned from you that if you have something better up your sleeve, you can maybe distract people from yourself. But that doesn’t always work, and usually not in your favor.” Leonard stopped and took a breath to fortify his resolve, then soldiered on. “So, since they didn’t escort you out of the convention, they must have stumbled upon something that was better than you. What was it?”_

_“Hell if I know,” David barked at his son. “All I did was tell them about the research, then when he wanted to recruit me, I told him that there were many people who were younger and better and more driven than I am, and that they would be better suited to enlistment in Starfleet.”_

_“How did you get to talking about me?”_

_David McCoy stilled and looked at his son with hard, cold eyes. “You are my son. Not my colleague, not my friend. You are my property. If I want to talk about you, then I will, and you will enjoy the fact that I’m lauding you and not condemning you. Are we clear?”_

“I’ll be god damned…” Leonard breathed. A flash of emotion crossed his face before he was able to slam a mask down and hide what he was thinking from the man that was six inches from his eyes, cheeks, mouth...Leonard raised his eyes to look at Pike, his gaze hardening into something that Chris couldn’t see through. “Desk. Bottom right,” Leonard said in answer to the original question.

Chris released Leonard and suppressed the urge to heave a sigh. Finally, he had gotten an answer out of the recalcitrant man. He turned and fished the newly opened bottle out of the drawer, poured a generous two fingers into Leonard’s glass and listened to the other man leave the study and walk up the stairs. Chris lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip.

*

When Chris jolted awake, it was the middle of the night. It must have only been a few hours after he had retired to the room that he was commandeering because he wasn’t as groggy as he felt he should be. He listened to the old farmhouse creak and settle, trying to understand what woke him up. Then he heard it, the quiet sound of breathing. It wasn’t his own. It was a bit too quiet, as though there was someone that was trying desperately to line their breaths with his own. Chris carefully laid back down onto the pillows and reached for the knife that he was keeping under his pillow. He closed his eyes for a moment before he heard a foot fall.

Rookie mistake.

Chris vaulted from the bed, knife in hand and pressed the person to the wall, knife to throat. “What in the hell are you doing?” He asked with sleep still in his voice.

There was a slash, and a brief moment of connection between the knife and Chris’s stomach. Nothing major, just a superficial scratch to skin. Chris reconfigured the hold so that the man’s hands were held tightly to the wall and the knife fell to the floor with a dull thud.

“Kitten has claws, I see,” Chris murmured to the man. “Lights, twenty percent.”

The dim lighting illuminated Leonard McCoy, with rage in his eyes.

“I am not your kitten, Pike.”

“Then stop acting like one,” Chris shot back.

“I’m not,” McCoy said tightly.

“Says the man who snuck into my room in order to excite me. Either you love me or you hate me, McCoy, you can’t have it both ways.”

“I think you mispronounced ‘execute’. And I hate you,” Leonard answered him.

“If you hated me, you would have succeeded in killing me. Now, get out. We have an early day tomorrow.” Chris told him. He took the knife from McCoy and watched him vacate the bedroom. Sure, there was the chance that McCoy would try his luck, but it was slim; McCoy made his move, now Chris had to make his.

*

Chris woke the next morning to the sound of his communicator chirping and a ceiling that he wasn’t used to. It took him a moment to remember that he was at McCoy’s place, that he had let the cat out of the bag about the patronage order and that he needed to go back to Horatio’s home for that god damn signature so that he could get his ass back to San Francisco. He groaned and stretched, feeling most of his joints pop back into place, before levering himself up from the bed and stumbling through the second floor to find the bathroom.

After making himself look presentable, he made his way down to the kitchen and found a pot of coffee already brewed and waiting. McCoy wasn’t there, and it didn’t look as though he had had a cup of the brew himself. Chris pondered whether or not McCoy would attempt to poison him via coffee, but seeing as how the man had no idea that Chris was essentially addicted to the stuff, there was little chance that McCoy would choose that avenue for poisoning. Chris poured a cup and inhaled the aroma before taking a tentative sip of the steaming liquid. Just this side of too hot, he let out an indecent groan in appreciation of the flavor.

There was a creak of the floorboards and Chris whirled around to see McCoy leaning in the doorway, looking at him. Chris was suddenly very aware that he was clad only in low slung sleep pants that were essentially threadbare, and then became very aware of the fact that Leonard was clad only in shorts and running shoes, and that he was sweating and just a touch red in the face. _Holy FUCK. He’s sex on legs…_

“Sure, help yourself,” Leonard snarked at him.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Chris answered him, letting himself undress the man in front of him of what little clothing he had on over the top of his coffee cup. When his eyes finally tracked back to McCoy’s eyes, Chris took a sip of the hot liquid. “It’s good.”

“I had a feelin’,” Leonard answered him as he...well, it wasn’t really a stalking, but it wasn’t exactly slinking either. Whatever it was, it was hot. Leonard bracketed Chris to the counter with his body, and the scent of sweat and man was kind of just a little bit heady. When Leonard leaned up to get a cup from the cabinets over his head, Chris had to hold his breath in effort not to lick Leonard’s chest all over, because really, it was as though he was _begging_ for it.

Before he could get too invested in the man in front of him, though, Chris’ communicator chirped, making it’s owner jump a little in surprise. He felt more than heard McCoy chuckle at the response and Chris scowled at the man as he poured a cup of coffee. Checking that it was the alarm that he had set so that he would get to Horatio’s house on time, he turned off the alarm and pocketed the communicator.

“You’d better be ready to leave by the time I get back,” he told Leonard. The younger man just saluted with his coffee mug as Chris walked out of the door.

It was a short drive to Horatio’s home and and even shorter amount of time to get the signature with a muttered ‘Good riddance‘ for his nephew before Chris was back in his hover car and on his way back to the farmhouse. His communicator beeped at him, indicating a message was waiting in his inbox, and he opened it when he pulled up to farmhouse.

_Commandant Pike,_

_After acquiring Leonard McCoy, you are to report to Riverside, Iowa to conscript one James T. Kirk from the Riverside County jail._

_Commander Spock_

Chris read over the message again. _James Kirk_? As in George’s son? He let out a low whistle and sent a confirmation that he had received the orders. How in the hell had James stayed under the radar for so long? Surely Starfleet would have taken him up and set him up with a patron as soon as they could. He was the son of George and Winona; both of them had ice running through their veins.

Each of them had fought tooth and nail to get to be on the Kelvin, one of the best ships of the time, and they hated each other up until they got on to the same boat. Winona got knocked up and then George had gotten...soft. He should have been on red alert, especially after Winona started to show, but he wasn’t and there was an attempt on her life. The attacker did some damage, too; James had to be cut from her belly in the middle of an attack by the Romulans. George got bad intel that she and the kid were dead, and he went down with the ship. When she heard the news of what happened, Winona lost all of her humanity, took the kid and disappeared off the radar. Of course, Starfleet wanted to find her, but when she ditched the locator chip embedded in all of the personnel, they could only rely on word of mouth and some on again off again surveillance.

It was assumed that Winona had killed the kid (or sold it) and left the planet. To find out that he was in Bumfuck, Iowa...Starfleet had to be losing their god damn minds trying to get to this kid.

Chris shook his head as the car stopped for hopefully the final time in front of McCoy’s dilapidated farmhouse. He slipped out of the car and climbed the stairs and opened the door. “McCoy, get your ass down here!” Chris shouted into the house. The answering quiet was enough to set Chris’s teeth on edge. _God damn fuckin‘ pain in the ass…_

Chris walked into the house and heard the shower running upstairs. _Well,_ Chris thought, _that explains the lack of answer_. He climbed the steps silently and heard a low moan as he crested the flight of stairs. The noise stopped the older man dead in his tracks as he waited to see if there were any other noises emerging from the otherwise silence. It sounded like a happy moan, and that would make sense, coming from the shower of the bathroom, but he wanted to be sure.

He stood outside the door and waited. A minute later, there was another moan, this one definitely happy, and louder. Much louder. Loud enough to hear that it wasn’t wordless, though not clear enough to hear what the word was. Chris knew he should leave, but his feet were planted and he wasn’t really listening to the rational part of his brain, at the moment. He slowly drew his hand up and placed it on the knob. He tried to turn the handle soundlessly and found it stuck. _Locked,_ his mind corrected.

He gently rested his forehead against the real wood door and waited, trying to tell himself that the only thing to do was to walk away and wait downstairs until McCoy graced him with his presence. He turned to walk away when he heard his name. Or at least, he thought he heard his name. It was a wooden door, after all. Hardly sound proof, but enough to muffle words into murmurs. Chris pressed his ear to the door and heard it again.

“ _Fuck, Chris, please…_ ” He heard from the behind the door. Well, if there was a point in time when he was going to move, it was gone now.

*

Leonard was done with the cleaning part of his shower, but he didn’t really want to leave the safety of the bathroom, yet. He didn’t know when Chris was going to be back, and since the man was squatting in his house, there was no time for him to really take care of matters that desperately needed to be taken care of. Leonard let images of Chris Pike flood his brain as he took his cock in hand and started stroking: Chris pushing him up against the spines of the books in the study, Chris in his low slung sleep pants (and pants is a loose interpretation of what those were), Chris beneath him as he reached up and over him to grab a mug…

“Fuck,” he groaned as he let his thumb swipe over the slit of his dick. It oozed pre come and Leonard spread it down his shaft. His hand moved faster as he thought of what Chris would be like fully naked, spread underneath him, snarling at him in such a way that there was no real heat to it, only fondness.

Or maybe Chris would be on top of him, teasing him, making him beg for every inch. “Fuck, Chris please…” Leonard moaned and squeezed his hand tighter. He was going to come, and some rational part of him thought that this was probably the fastest that he had come since he was a teenager.

“Fuck, want to come, let me come, please, _pleaseplease_ ,” Leonard murmured and just imagining that smug look on Chris’s face and the answering ‘ _Come for me_ ’, was enough. He panted, head resting against the cool tile for a moment or two before washing the come away and rinsing one last time before turning off the water and wrapping a towel around himself and opening the door.

Leonard was surprised to find Chris standing on the opposite side of the hallway, leaning against the wall and arms folded across his chest. “Can I help you?” Leonard asked him.

“Not at the moment, but I’m sure that you will. I told you to be ready by the time I got back.”

“And you conveniently didn’t tell me when that would be, so I had to estimate. Forgive me,” Leonard answered. The last bit was so coated in sarcasm that he was surprised that he couldn’t see the dripping words in front of him.

Pike looked him up and down. “You should have been faster, then.” There was a hint of a smirk playing at his lips and Leonard wasn’t really sure if Pike had heard him, or he was laughing at the idea of keeping Leonard off balance.

Leonard turned and walked to his room. He didn’t have anything that he couldn’t bear to lose. It was a hard learned lesson that his father instilled in him. He grabbed a change of clothes and threw them on before turning and walking back out of the room. “I’m not taking anything with me, anyway,” he told Pike as he walked down the stairs.

_Good._ Chris thought to himself. “We’re making a stop,” he told Leonard, who turned to him in confusion briefly before turning back and walking to the door.

“Fine.”

*

_Riverside, Iowa was probably one of the sleepiest towns in the entire slab of land_ , Leonard ruminated as he sat at one of the back tables in the dive located on the outskirts of town. The cadets that were temporarily being housed there pushed the population temporarily over 1,000. The music was loud and obnoxious, the people even more so. Leonard debated going back to his room at the only motel this backward ass town had, and swiftly vetoed the idea. He had just gotten out from under the stare of Pike, there was no need to hurry back.

He was just tucking into his second sorry excuse for bourbon when he heard a commotion from the front of the bar. There were a group of cadets surrounding something, or someone, and they didn’t seem to be pleased about the situation. Then there was a punch, and all hell broke loose. Leonard stayed at his back table, watching the fight and tried not to bring any attention to himself. He caught a glimpse of blonde hair and thought maybe he recognized the man getting his ass handed to him before he heard the sharp whistle.

“Outside. All of you. Now.” Pike said quietly into the room, and with minimal grumbling, all of the cadets left. The man that was just saved from a pretty serious head injury was sprawled across a table, and Pike murmured a question to him that Leonard didn’t quite catch.

“You can whistle really loud, you know that?” was the only response from, fuck, James Kirk. Pike just cocked his head to look at the man that was sprawled out in front of him. There was a hint of steel in the look, but mostly it was one of amusement.

Really, all that Leonard wanted to do was to crawl into a hole. But, upon cursory inspection of the surrounding walls, there were no convenient crevasses. So he took a swallow of his poor excuse for bourbon and watched Pike have a beer while he waited for the miscreant that was now passed out on the table to wake up. Thankfully, Pike was sitting such that his back was to McCoy, which suited the younger man just fine _thank you very much_.

It wasn’t until Pike had cold clocked Kirk that he turned to Leonard.

“You should be back at the motel,” Pike murmured into the dark of the bar.

Leonard didn’t say anything. Pike looked at him, his gaze boring into the younger man, and slowly walked toward him.

“I fucking told you to stay in the fucking room. One god damn minute I was in the head, and you and Kirk fucking disappear. Where the fuck did you think that you two were going to go? Did you help each other out? Because Kirk was fucking tied to the chair.” Pike was upon him now, leaning over the chair and the table. Pike grabbed Leonard’s hair and pulled him up from the chair.

“Did you fucking let him out?” Pike snarled.

Leonard didn’t answer.

The air flew out of Leonard’s body when Pike buried his fist into the younger man’s abdomen. He doubled over and Pike leaned to whisper into his ear. “Did you fucking let him out?” Leonard wheezed and Pike let him drop and bellowed, “Answer me, McCoy!”

“N-No,” he gasped. “I didn’t fucking let the asshole out.”

Pike gripped his hair and pulled his head up with a bit of force. “Good boy,” Pike said while patting Leonard on the face. “But you did leave the motel, and that means you have to be punished.” Leonard was quiet the rest of the night, probably trying to not think about what was in store for him.

*

Pike hauled both of their asses back to the motel, McCoy by the scruff of his neck and Kirk over his shoulder. It was a pretty impressive display of strength, if Leonard was being honest, but he would be damned if he let Pike know that.

Kirk stayed unconscious the rest of the night, and Pike stayed awake watching McCoy.

“You might as well sleep. I’m not going to punish you now,” Pike told him at around 0300.

McCoy glanced at him skeptically.

“I’m not trying to lull you into a false sense of security, McCoy. I don’t have the correct materials here to punish you. When we get to San Francisco, then you can be worried.”

“Oh, so tomorrow?” McCoy asked with irritation.

“I could just not tell you when it’s coming,” Pike reminded him. That was true, but honestly, at this point, McCoy would much rather not know the whole thing was happening. That way he wouldn’t stay up half the night thinking about what a ‘punishment‘ entailed to Pike.

McCoy glared at him once more before rolling over and attempting to fall asleep.

*

The shuttle for new cadets left Riverside at 0800 the next morning. Leonard had managed to get a few hours of sleep, but he wouldn’t even think of calling the sleep ‘restful’. He was tired, under caffeinated, and he had to play god damned babysitter to James T. Kirk while Pike flew the god damned shuttle back to god damned San Francisco.

His morning could be infinitely better.

“Hey...Hey, man,” Kirk was saying to his right. Leonard knew that he was trying to talk to him, but he had introduced himself to Kirk not even two hours ago, and so Leonard wasn’t answering until his name fell from Kirk’s lips. “Come on, man, you’re a doctor, right? A Sawbones? Look, do you have anything for a hangover handy? My head is killing me.”

Leonard kept his eyes closed and tried to focus on not throwing up.

“Sawbones. Hey!” There was an elbow in his side now, trying to make itself a nice little hole in his ribs.

“If you don’t get your elbow out of my ribs in the next six seconds I am going to cold clock you,” Leonard growled, still not looking at Kirk.

“Good, you’re awake. Give me a cure for a hangover.”

“Okay, let’s get a few things straight. One: I am not your personal doctor. Two: I do not carry hypos for hangovers. Three: If you continue to talk, I will knock you out, and no, it will not be with a sedative.”

“Bullshit. You carry hangover hypos, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh really? What’s your evidence?”

“You drink like a fish, Sawbones. I saw you at the bar last night.”

“No I don’t and stop calling me that.”

“Yes you do. Look, just give it to me, Bones. I’ll stop bitching if you give it to me.”

“I told you to stop calling me that. And, no, I don’t have them on me.”

Kirk was mercifully quiet for a few moments and then, “So...do you have anything in that hip flask, or is it simply for decoration?” Leonard looked at him, down to his flask and then back to Kirk. He was smirking.

“IF there was, what’s it to you?”

“Hair of the dog?” Kirk asked, his smirk getting wider.

“What happened to your insistence that I had a hypo?”

“I’ll take the next best thing.”

Leonard considered for a moment, then handed the flask over. Kirk accepted gratefully and took a swig.

“Thanks, Bones,” Kirk said as he handed the flask back.

“Welcome. And stop calling me that.”

“What, Bones?”

“Yes, that.”

“But you answered to it,” Kirk said playfully.

“I answered to the elbow burrowing into my ribs.”

“Close enough.”

“The name’s McCoy, kid. Leonard McCoy.”

“Jim Kirk.”

*

A few hours later, Leonard found himself in front of what had to be an obscenely old victorian. However, to look at it from the street would make a person think that it had been commissioned just for Pike. Hell, it could have been commissioned just for Pike, McCoy thought to himself. The woodwork was in phenomenal shape and it looked to have recently been painted. The yard was small and delineated with a wrought iron fence, but it seemed to be superfluous because as far as Leonard knew, Pike wasn’t one to have a dog or really appreciate the outdoors. The curb appeal made it seem as though it was taken from the 19th century and placed lovingly between the townhouses of the rest of San Francisco.

Pike led Leonard into the house and disarmed the handprint lock, then the DNA lock on the door. Leonard entered the house and was almost surprised to see the room off the foyer that was specifically set up for security. There was a vid link to the stoop, as well as every entry point to the house, from what Leonard could gather.

Pike led him briskly from the hall and into a spacious kitchen that was all sleek lines and efficient appliances. He turned to the younger man and looked him up and down. “Your room is on the second floor, second door on the left. Go have a look around the house and then find me; You have a punishment waiting that I haven’t forgotten to deliver.” McCoy scowled and muttered about being treated like a child before climbing the stairs. The first door on the left was a bathroom, nicely appointed. It was all light colors and dark, fluffy towels and a peek into the shower that showcased five shower heads and audio controls for temperature. The claw foot tub was an odd juxtaposition to the state of the art shower system, but Leonard was starting to see that Pike was a bit of the new and the old put together.

The room that he would be appointed to was next, and once the door opened, a spacious room was revealed. Directly across from the door was a bed against a window. To the left of the bed there was a desk against another window and a couch to the left of that. Two chairs were in the far corner of the room next to the bathroom door. Across from the chairs was a closet that looked as though it could house the clothes for every admiral in the fleet, and a grand bookcase completed the circle of the room. The floors were a dark stain with a beautiful rug thrown into the middle of the room to provide some comfort to his feet when he first woke in the morning. When Leonard peeked into one of the closets, he saw five of the red cadet uniforms that he had been fitted for, two dress uniforms, a few sets of workout clothes and two pairs of military grade boots.

Leonard exited his room and walked to the door at the end of the hallway. He tried the knob, but it was locked. He assumed that it was the master bed and bath. The second door on the right was also locked, and Leonard contemplated what could be hiding behind it. More than likely it was a study, but Leonard kept is mind open to other possibilities. Finally the first door on the right, the one directly across from the rest room was a guest room. It was scarcely furnished and unassuming, as though it originally had seemed useful, but no on had ever stayed in it.

Walking back down the stairs, Leonard found an L shaped living and dining room area. To the left of the staircase there was a fully stocked bar with five stools sitting in front of it. Next to that, a window and the door to the kitchen that Leonard had come through. around the corner of the room, there was a black slate fireplace and a wall of windows.

Leonard walked toward the fireplace and saw that Pike was longing on the couch, waiting for him. “You think you have the layout of the place?” Pike asked him.

“Does it really matter?” McCoy answered.

“Fair point.” The older man replied, continuing to lounge.

“…So what is this whole punishment thing?” Leonard asked with as much bravado as he could muster.

“In a moment. Some formalities for now, I should think,” Pike murmured as he reached down and scooped up a kit that was resting next to the couch on the floor. Pike walked toward him with a slow deliberate pace. “You’re my patron, as of right now, and that has a bit of weight attached to it. It means that I have responsibility over you as though you were my own blood, but I also have the ability and the right to kill you.” At this point, Pike was right in front of Leonard, and was bunching the younger man’s sleeve up at the shoulder. Pike placed a hypo to the bared skin. “So I’m fitting you with a tracker. If you’re late, I’ll know where you are.”

“Late for what? I don’t need a damn keeper,” Leonard railed as Pike depressed the plunger and the tracker into his arm.

“Anything. Class, hospital shifts, dinner. You’re mine, McCoy, and I take care of what’s mine.”

“Hospital shifts?”

“Don’t be dense, McCoy. Why do you think you’re here? To work in our hospitals; show off your talents so that someone will want you if you ever make it to graduation. Normally an opportunity like this wouldn’t go to someone fresh off the shuttle, but you have previous experience, so that makes you…special…in this one particular sense. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Believe me,” Leonard muttered, “I don’t want to be considered ‘special’.”

Pike repressed a grin. “Pull down your pants.”

“Come the fuck again?”

“I know you’re not deaf, McCoy.” Pike told him as he turned and walked back to the couch. He sat on the arm instead of a cushion and looked expectantly at McCoy. “To the knee will be sufficient.”

“What the hell are you going to do, spank me?”

“How very astute of you, doctor. Now, don’t make me tell you again,” Pike warned him.

“You’ve gotta be kidding. No! I’m not a fucking child!”

Pike was up and on him in a second, hand wrapped dangerously around his throat. “No, you’re not, though you behave like one; not following orders, throwing temper tantrums when you don’t get your way, sulking?” Pike’s other hand was unclasped the button and pulled the zipper on his jeans with a practiced ease. Pike walked Leonard back to the arm of the couch, pulled his jeans and boxers down to his knees and bent the younger man over the couch. He leaned over Leonard’s body, only placing a hand on the back of his neck, but Leonard could feel the warmth of the older man all down his back. “If you’re going to act like a child,” Pike whispered in his ear, “then I’ll punish you like one.”

Pike pulled back, left his hand on the back of Leonard’s neck and spoke in a normal tone. “Count.”

Before Leonard could open his mouth, a hand came down on his ass, hard. Leonard gasped, then bit his lip to keep the strangled sound inside.

“Well?” Pike asked him.

“Fuck you, Pike,” Leonard snarled at him. This lead Pike to pinch the sensitive crease where his ass met his thigh, and Leonard howled with the unexpected pain.

“Now, I’m going to start again. _Count_.”

Pike’s hand cut through the air so fast that Leonard could have sworn that he heard the whistling. A moment later his left ass cheek was on fire, and Leonard couldn’t breathe, let alone count.

There was a pause while Pike magnanimously allowed Leonard to catch his breath, and then a warning squeeze on the back of his neck.

“One,” Leonard ground out, staring resolutely at the cushion in front of his face.He was blushing from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair. Another smack, and Leonard groaned out “two” to his utter humiliation.

It didn’t get any better through all ten of the smacks to his ass. By the time that Pike deemed the punishment “complete” his ass was bright red, as was his face, and he was debating the many different ways that he could kill Pike and make it look like an accident. Leonard pushed himself up, hiked up his boxers and jeans and marched out of the room, head held high and not looking at Pike at all.


End file.
